A poem a day

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

My Sad Captains
-----by Thom Gunn

One by one they appear in
the darkness: a few friends, and
a few with historical
names. How late they start to shine!
but before they fade they stand
perfectly embodied, all

the past lapping them like a
cloak of chaos. They were men
who, I thought, lived only to
renew the wasteful force they
spent with each hot convulsion.
They remind me, distant now.

True, they are not at rest yet,
but now they are indeed
apart, winnowed from failures,
they withdraw to an orbit
and turn with disinterested
hard energy, like the stars.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

A Ballad Of The Trees And The Master
- Poem by Sidney Lanier


Into the woods my Master went,
Clean forspent, forspent.
Into the woods my Master came,
Forspent with love and shame.
But the olives they were not blind to Him,
The little gray leaves were kind to Him:
The thorn-tree had a mind to Him
When into the woods He came.

Out of the woods my Master went,
And He was well content.
Out of the woods my Master came,
Content with death and shame.
When Death and Shame would woo Him last,
From under the trees they drew Him last:
'Twas on a tree they slew Him - last
When out of the woods He came.
Sidney Lanier

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

https://www.poemhunter.com/ronald-stuart-thomas/

A Marriage
- Poem by Ronald Stuart Thomas

We met
under a shower
of bird-notes.
Fifty years passed,
love's moment
in a world in
servitude to time.
She was young;
I kissed with my eyes
closed and opened
them on her wrinkles.
`Come,' said death,
choosing her as his
partner for
the last dance, And she,
who in life
had done everything
with a bird's grace,
opened her bill now
for the shedding
of one sigh no
heavier than a feather.
Ronald Stuart Thomas

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

https://www.poemhunter.com/ronald-stuart-thomas/

A Blackbird Singing
- Poem by Ronald Stuart Thomas


It seems wrong that out of this bird,
Black, bold, a suggestion of dark
Places about it, there yet should come
Such rich music, as though the notes'
Ore were changed to a rare metal
At one touch of that bright bill.

You have heard it often, alone at your desk
In a green April, your mind drawn
Away from its work by sweet disturbance
Of the mild evening outside your room.

A slow singer, but loading each phrase
With history's overtones, love, joy
And grief learned by his dark tribe
In other orchards and passed on
Instinctively as they are now,
But fresh always with new tears.


Ronald Stuart Thomas
************************************************** *

https://www.poemhunter.com/ronald-stuart-thomas/

BIOGRAPHY
Ronald Stuart Thomas poet

Ronald Stuart Thomas was born in Cardiff in 1913, the son of a sea captain. He was educated at University College of North Wales and later undertook theological training at St Michael's College in Cardiff. He was ordained as an Anglican priest in 1936.

During his time as a rector he began to write poetry and verse. His writing career continued for fifty years during which time he produced twenty volumes of poetry and was nominated for a Nobel prize and awarded the Queen's Gold Medal for Poetry. Whilst religion, understandably, was one of the major themes of his work, he also wrote about nature and about Welsh history. Thomas was fervent and often outspoken Welsh patriot and even wrote his autobiography Nab (Nobody - 1985) in Welsh.

Thomas enjoyed working in the countryside and spent his whole time as a clergyman working in rural parishes. He retired in 1978. His first wife Elsi, by whom he had a son, died in 1991 after 51 years of marriage. He later married his second wife, Betty, who was with him until his death. He died at the age of 87 n 25th September 2000.

Whilst still remembered for his Welsh republican views, it is for his religious poetry that he is still held in high regard. Of his work, he said:

"My chief aim is to make a poem . You make it for yourself firstly, and then if other people want to join in... then there we are." His Collected Poems was published in 1993 and is still available today.

This page is based on the copyrighted Wikipedia Ronald Stuart Thomas; it is used under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. You may redistribute it, verbatim or modified, providing that you comply with the terms of the CC-BY-SA.
Ronald Stuart Thomas Poems

The Dance
She is young. Have I the right Even to name her? Child, It is not love I offer
A Day In Autumn
It will not always be like this, The air windless, a few last Leaves adding their decoration To the trees’ shoulders, braiding the cuffs
Children's Song
We live in our own world, A world that is too small For you to stoop and enter Even on hands and knees,
Ninetieth Birthday
You go up the long track That will take a car, but is best walked On slow foot, noting the lichen That writes history on the page
A Blackbird Singing
It seems wrong that out of this bird, Black, bold, a suggestion of dark Places about it, there yet should come Such rich music, as though the notes'
A Marriage
We met under a shower of bird-notes.
A Welsh Testament
All right, I was Welsh. Does it matter? I spoke a tongue that was passed on To me in the place I happened to be, A place huddled between grey walls
A Peasant
Iago Prytherch his name, though, be it allowed, Just an ordinary man of the bald Welsh hills, Who pens a few sheep in a gap of cloud. Docking mangels, chipping the green skin
Welsh Landscape
To live in Wales is to be conscious At dusk of the spilled blood That went into the making of the wild sky, Dyeing the immaculate rivers
The Cat And The Sea
It is a matter of a black cat On a bare cliff top in March Whose eyes anticipate The gorse petals;
Here
I am a man now. Pass your hand over my brow. You can feel the place where the brains grow.
Pisces
Who said to the trout, You shall die on Good Friday To be food for a man And his pretty lady?
Death Of A Poet
Laid now on his smooth bed For the last time, watching dully Through heavy eyelids the day's colour Widow the sky, what can he say
Welsh History
We were a people taut for war; the hills Were no harder, the thin grass Clothed them more warmly than the coarse Shirts our small bones.

All poems of Ronald Stuart Thomas »

[LongTermGuy]

A Marriage
- Poem by Ronald Stuart Thomas

We met
under a shower
of bird-notes.
Fifty years passed,
love's moment
in a world in
servitude to time.
She was young;
I kissed with my eyes
closed and opened
them on her wrinkles.
`Come,' said death,
choosing her as his
partner for
the last dance, And she,
who in life
had done everything
with a bird's grace,
opened her bill now
for the shedding
of one sigh no
heavier than a feather.
Ronald Stuart Thomas

-------------------------------------------------------------------------


A Blackbird Singing
- Poem by Ronald Stuart Thomas


It seems wrong that out of this bird,
Black, bold, a suggestion of dark
Places about it, there yet should come
Such rich music, as though the notes'
Ore were changed to a rare metal
At one touch of that bright bill.

You have heard it often, alone at your desk
In a green April, your mind drawn
Away from its work by sweet disturbance
Of the mild evening outside your room.

A slow singer, but loading each phrase
With history's overtones, love, joy
And grief learned by his dark tribe
In other orchards and passed on
Instinctively as they are now,
But fresh always with new tears.


Ronald Stuart Thomas
************************************************** *


BIOGRAPHY
Ronald Stuart Thomas poet

Ronald Stuart Thomas was born in Cardiff in 1913, the son of a sea captain. He was educated at University College of North Wales and later undertook theological training at St Michael's College in Cardiff. He was ordained as an Anglican priest in 1936.

During his time as a rector he began to write poetry and verse. His writing career continued for fifty years during which time he produced twenty volumes of poetry and was nominated for a Nobel prize and awarded the Queen's Gold Medal for Poetry. Whilst religion, understandably, was one of the major themes of his work, he also wrote about nature and about Welsh history. Thomas was fervent and often outspoken Welsh patriot and even wrote his autobiography Nab (Nobody - 1985) in Welsh.

Thomas enjoyed working in the countryside and spent his whole time as a clergyman working in rural parishes. He retired in 1978. His first wife Elsi, by whom he had a son, died in 1991 after 51 years of marriage. He later married his second wife, Betty, who was with him until his death. He died at the age of 87 n 25th September 2000.

Whilst still remembered for his Welsh republican views, it is for his religious poetry that he is still held in high regard. Of his work, he said:

"My chief aim is to make a poem . You make it for yourself firstly, and then if other people want to join in... then there we are." His Collected Poems was published in 1993 and is still available today.

This page is based on the copyrighted Wikipedia Ronald Stuart Thomas; it is used under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. You may redistribute it, verbatim or modified, providing that you comply with the terms of the CC-BY-SA.
Ronald Stuart Thomas Poems

The Dance
She is young. Have I the right Even to name her? Child, It is not love I offer
A Day In Autumn
It will not always be like this, The air windless, a few last Leaves adding their decoration To the trees’ shoulders, braiding the cuffs
Children's Song
We live in our own world, A world that is too small For you to stoop and enter Even on hands and knees,
Ninetieth Birthday
You go up the long track That will take a car, but is best walked On slow foot, noting the lichen That writes history on the page
A Blackbird Singing
It seems wrong that out of this bird, Black, bold, a suggestion of dark Places about it, there yet should come Such rich music, as though the notes'
A Marriage
We met under a shower of bird-notes.
A Welsh Testament
All right, I was Welsh. Does it matter? I spoke a tongue that was passed on To me in the place I happened to be, A place huddled between grey walls
A Peasant
Iago Prytherch his name, though, be it allowed, Just an ordinary man of the bald Welsh hills, Who pens a few sheep in a gap of cloud. Docking mangels, chipping the green skin
Welsh Landscape
To live in Wales is to be conscious At dusk of the spilled blood That went into the making of the wild sky, Dyeing the immaculate rivers
The Cat And The Sea
It is a matter of a black cat On a bare cliff top in March Whose eyes anticipate The gorse petals;
Here
I am a man now. Pass your hand over my brow. You can feel the place where the brains grow.
Pisces
Who said to the trout, You shall die on Good Friday To be food for a man And his pretty lady?
Death Of A Poet
Laid now on his smooth bed For the last time, watching dully Through heavy eyelids the day's colour Widow the sky, what can he say
Welsh History
We were a people taut for war; the hills Were no harder, the thin grass Clothed them more warmly than the coarse Shirts our small bones.

All poems of Ronald Stuart Thomas »

Good Morning Tyr.....very nice!
~ "It is a matter of a black cat On a bare cliff top in March Whose eyes anticipate The gorse petals;
Here
I am a man now. Pass your hand over my brow. You can feel the place where the brains grow.
Pisces...." ~

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

ONE FOOT IN EDEN
by Edwin Muir

One foot in Eden still, I stand

And look across the other land.

The world’s great day is growing late,

Yet strange these fields that we have planted

So long with crops of love and hate.

Time’s handiworks by time are haunted,

And nothing now can separate

The corn and tares compactly grown.

The armorial weed in stillness bound

Above the stalk; these are our own.

Evil and good stand thick around

In the fields of charity and sin

Where we shall lead our harvest in.

Yet still from Eden springs the root

As clean as on the starting day.

Times takes the foliage and the fruit

And burns the archetypal leaf

To shapes of terror and of grief

Scattered along the winter way.

But famished field and blackened tree

Bear flowers in Eden never known.

Blossoms of grief and charity

Bloom in these darkened fields alone.

What had Eden ever to say

Of hope and faith and pity and love

Until was buried all its day

And memory found its treasure trove?

Strange blessings never in Paradise

Fall from these beclouded skies.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

https://owlcation.com/humanities/Dyl...ve-No-Dominion


Introduction and Text of "And Death Shall Have No Dominion"
From the King James Version of the Judeo-Christian scripture, Romans 6:9, "Knowing that Christ being raised from the dead dieth no more; death hath no more dominion over him" (my emphasis).

In Dylan Thomas' poem, "And Death Shall Have No Dominion," the speaker employs that sentiment in his title and five other repetitions as a refrain. The three novtets—9-line stanzas—seek to demonstrate the efficacy of that a claim that death shall not have any control over the human soul. While the quotation from Romans specifically focused on the advanced state of consciousness of the Christ, Who rose above death's grasp, the speaker of Thomas' poem muses on the possibilities of the human soul as it conquers death.

And Death Shall Have No Dominion

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead man naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.

Dylan Thomas' poem

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46789/in-exile

In Exile

BY EMMA LAZARUS

“Since that day till now our life is one unbroken paradise. We live a true brotherly life. Every evening after supper we take a seat under the mighty oak and sing our songs.”—Extract from a letter of a Russian refugee in Texas.


Twilight is here, soft breezes bow the grass,
Day's sounds of various toil break slowly off.
The yoke-freed oxen low, the patient ass
Dips his dry nostril in the cool, deep trough.
Up from the prairie the tanned herdsmen pass
With frothy pails, guiding with voices rough
Their udder-lightened kine. Fresh smells of earth,
The rich, black furrows of the glebe send forth.

After the Southern day of heavy toil,
How good to lie, with limbs relaxed, brows bare
To evening's fan, and watch the smoke-wreaths coil
Up from one's pipe-stem through the rayless air.
So deem these unused tillers of the soil,
Who stretched beneath the shadowing oak tree, stare
Peacefully on the star-unfolding skies,
And name their life unbroken paradise.

The hounded stag that has escaped the pack,
And pants at ease within a thick-leaved dell;
The unimprisoned bird that finds the track
Through sun-bathed space, to where his fellows dwell;
The martyr, granted respite from the rack,
The death-doomed victim pardoned from his cell,—
Such only know the joy these exiles gain,—
Life's sharpest rapture is surcease of pain.

Strange faces theirs, wherethrough the Orient sun
Gleams from the eyes and glows athwart the skin.
Grave lines of studious thought and purpose run
From curl-crowned forehead to dark-bearded chin.
And over all the seal is stamped thereon
Of anguish branded by a world of sin,
In fire and blood through ages on their name,
Their seal of glory and the Gentiles' shame.

Freedom to love the law that Moses brought,
To sing the songs of David, and to think
The thoughts Gabirol to Spinoza taught,
Freedom to dig the common earth, to drink
The universal air—for this they sought
Refuge o'er wave and continent, to link
Egypt with Texas in their mystic chain,
And truth's perpetual lamp forbid to wane.

Hark! through the quiet evening air, their song
Floats forth with wild sweet rhythm and glad refrain.
They sing the conquest of the spirit strong,
The soul that wrests the victory from pain;
The noble joys of manhood that belong
To comrades and to brothers. In their strain
Rustle of palms and Eastern streams one hears,
And the broad prairie melts in mist of tears.


Source: Emma Lazarus: Selected Poems and Other Writings (2002)
************************************************** ***

A truly talented and awe inspiring poet.....-Tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

This is why I like Bukowski more and more as years pass, the cold, hard and brutal(or should that be- brutish?) truth he slung with utter contempt of those that always try to suppress it!--Tyr

https://www.artvilla.com/man-in-the-...rles-bukowski/

man in the sun
by Charles Bukowski

she reads to me from the New Yorker
which I don’t buy, don’t know
how they get in here, but it’s
something about the Mafia
one of the heads of the Mafia
who ate too much and had it too easy
too many fine women patting his
walnuts, and he got fat sucking at good
cigars and young breasts and he
has these heart attacks – and so
one day somebody is driving him
in his big car along the road
and he doesn’t feel so good
and he asks the boy to stop and let
him out and the boy lays him out
along the road in the fine sunshine
and before he dies he says:
how beautiful life can be, and
then he’s gone.

sometimes you’ve got to kill 4 or 5
thousand men before you somehow
get to believe that the sparrow
is immortal, money is piss and
that you have been wasting
your time.

—————————————————————

From Burning in Water, Drowning in Flame
Selected poems 1955 – 1973
Black Sparrow Press, 1986.
First published in:
Crucifix in a Deathhand, 1965.

***********************************************

Will add more later, forgot where I put that damn book and its interesting poetry concepts...-Tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Grief
BY ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING
I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless;
That only men incredulous of despair,
Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air
Beat upward to God’s throne in loud access
Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness,
In souls as countries, lieth silent-bare
Under the blanching, vertical eye-glare
Of the absolute heavens. Deep-hearted man, express
Grief for thy dead in silence like to death—
Most like a monumental statue set
In everlasting watch and moveless woe
Till itself crumble to the dust beneath.
Touch it; the marble eyelids are not wet:
If it could weep, it could arise and go.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

The Valley of Unrest

by Edgar Allan Poe
(published 1845)


Once it smiled a silent dell
Where the people did not dwell;
They had gone unto the wars,
Trusting to the mild-eyed stars,
Nightly, from their azure towers,
To keep watch above the flowers,
In the midst of which all day
The red sun-light lazily lay.
Now each visitor shall confess
The sad valley's restlessness.
Nothing there is motionless --
Nothing save the airs that brood
Over the magic solitude.
Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees
That palpitate like the chill seas
Around the misty Hebrides!
Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven
That rustle through the unquiet Heaven
Uneasily, from morn till even,
Over the violets there that lie
In myriad types of the human eye --
Over the lilies there that wave
And weep above a nameless grave!
They wave: -- from out their fragrant tops
Eternal dews come down in drops.
They weep: -- from off their delicate stems
Perennial tears descend in gems.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

https://www.poetseers.org/nobel-priz...omain-rolland/

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Nobel Prize Poets » Romain Rolland
Romain Rolland
Romain Rolland Romain Rolland (29 January 1866 – 30 December 1944) was a French writer, art historian and mystic who was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1915.
“Every man who is truly a man must learn to be alone in the midst of all others, and if need be against all others.”

– Romain Rolland

Romain Rolland Bio
Romain Rolland the great French savant, novelist, dramatist, essayist, and mystic—Romain Rolland (1866 – 1944) was awarded Nobel Prize for Literature in 1915.

He was born in Clamecy, Nièvre, France. His family was of mixed stock including both wealthy townspeople and poorer labourers.

Romain Rolland went to University in 1886 where he studied philosophy, however he didn’t enjoy the rigid nature of the philosophy syllabus and so left before he had finished his course. Instead he received a degree in history. After university he spent a couple of years in Italy, greatly admiring Italian art and the great masterpieces.

On returning to France he took up a posts teaching at various university’s including the Sorbonne. However his heart was never in teaching, he preferred to be a writer. Therefore he quit his teaching post to dedicate his time to writing.

Rolland was my nature introverted he didn’t make close friendships but absorbed himself in his writing. During the German occupation of France from 1940 he led a life of isolation and was very much a loner.

“The sages, who discovered the law of non-violence in the midst of violence, were greater geniuses than Newton, greater warriors than Wellington. Non-violence is the law of our species as violence is the law of the brute.”

– Romain Rolland

Romain Rolland was a lifelong pacifist. He was a great admirer of Gandhi and in 1924 wrote a book on Gandhi. This book was important for both himself and for Gandhi’s reputation in Europe. The two men were able to meet in 1931. Throughout his life Romain Rolland retained a keen interest in India and Indian spirituality.

If there is one place on the face of the earth where all the dreams of living men have found a home from the very earliest days when man began the dream of existence, it is India. … For more than 30 centuries, the tree of vision, with all its thousand branches and their millions of twigs, has sprung from this torrid land, the burning womb of the Gods. It renews itself tirelessly showing no signs of decay.

– Romain Rolland, Life of Ramakrishna (1929)

He also wrote a biography of the great Hindu Saint Sri Ramakrishna. Romain Rolland was also a keen admirer of Sri Aurobindo a leading Indian nationalist and later a teacher of Yoga.

Romain Rolland died on Dec 30,1944 in Vezelay.

-Richard

Links:
Romain Rolland Quotes
Nobel Prize for Literature

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https://brucespoems.blogspot.com/201...nd-edmond.html

A Collection of Poems
A diverse collection of poems I like.

HomeIndex of PoemsPoetry World Map

Venice masks
Sunday, 10 November 2019
Credo - Romain Rolland and Edmond Bordeaux Szekely
We believe that our most precious possession is Life.
We believe we shall mobilize all the forces of Life against the forces of death.
We believe that mutual understanding leads toward mutual cooperation:
that mutual cooperation leads toward Peace;
and that Peace is the only way of survival for mankind.
We believe that we shall preserve instead of waste our natural resources,
which are the heritage of our children.
We believe that we shall avoid pollution of our air, water, and soil,
the basic preconditions of life.
We believe we shall preserve the vegetation of our planet:
the humble grass which came fifty million years ago,
and the majestic trees which came twenty million years ago,
to prepare our planet for mankind.
We believe we shall eat only fresh, natural, pure, whole foods,
without chemicals and artificial processing.
We believe we shall live a simple, natural, creative life,
absorbing all the sources of energy, harmony and knowledge, in and around us.
We believe that the improvement of life and mankind on our planet
must start with individual efforts, as the whole depends on the atoms composing it.
We believe in
the Fatherhood of God,
the Motherhood of Nature,
and the Brotherhood of Man.
Romain Rolland (1866 - 1944), France and Edmond Bordeaux Szekely (1905 - 1979) Hungary
Source: The Gospel of Love and Peace: Essene, Books 1-4, edited by Jörg Berchem, Books on Demand, 2016
Credo of the International Biogenic Society
Posted by Bruce-the-Sheep at 14:20


************************************************** **

We Are The Ones Destroying Without A Prudent Thought

Nature delivers but mankind seeks to destroy
that which the majestic bounty of earth provides
man is taught to take anything to then employ
in order to always be on the winning side
yet truth is there are costs to any sacrifice
mortals weak and so blinded simply fail to see
in the end we as a group shall pay that high price
for that black darkness born into both you and me.

R.J. Lindley, 2-17- 1980
Rhyme,-- (Waking Up To Finally A Darken Truth See)